War Wounds
by AnnieVH
Summary: Summary: Step back! I've got a scars cliche and I'm not afraid to use it!
1. Info

**Title:** War Wounds  
**Author:** AnnieVH  
**Summary:** Step back! I've got a scars cliche and I'm not afraid to use it! I've written two drabbles (of 500 words each) on the theme "scars" for this fandom. I was hoping there would be more (maybe in the future), but that's all I could accomplish in 72hours.  
I'm using the _scars_ prompt from SmallFandomFest in general, but each individual drabble is based on a specific prompt (colors) from drabbles100.  
**Characters or Pairing:** Milo/Rick  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, just burrow.  
**Prompts in general:** SmallFandomFest: _Alex Delaware Series, Milo/Rick, Scars_

**_This was not betaed! Forgive the grammar_**_!_

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_"When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing."_  
Rabindranath Tagore


	2. Blue

**Rating**: T  
**Genre**: romance, humor  
**Warning**: language  
**Spoilers**: post-Obsession  
**Prompts**: drabbles100: _015._ _blue_

**Word** **count**: 500

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"_I base my fashion taste on what doesn't itch._"  
Gilda Radner

* * *

Milo had hoped to catch a break with that trip. Hawaii was Rick's favorite spot for vacationing and maybe that would be enough to stop the good doctor from nagging about his leaving the hospital without permission. But after fighting over packing, over being late for the flight, over who was driving, over who was going to be on fucking_ top, _Milo accepted the silence that settled in the next day as progress.

The first time Rick actually said something after five hours of cold silence, it was "I don't like it." Referring to the ugliest Hawaiian aqua blue shirt Milo was inspecting.

Milo took the shirt anyway and, oh, Lord, it had colorful elephants and monkeys on it!

Rick said, "How come you always pick the worst piece of clothing in every hanger, Milo?"

Milo heard the quiet disdain in his voice and knew Rick was trying to start another discussion. Though there was an answer itching to be said ("How come you always spend more money on clothes then I do on food, Rick?") he decided he wasn't going to get in his game anymore and said, "That's one part of me you wouldn't have missed." And went to try the shirt in front of a small mirror in the back of the store.

Rick watched him strip out of his yellow shirt - the one that was just as ugly, of course - and try the other one, moving very slowly, rolling his shoulders back and holding back a grimace as pain stung through his arm and chest. For a moment, Rick could see the scars on his shoulder, tiny dots spreading pale on his even paler skin, each one marking a shotgun pellet he had dug out of his flesh himself. Then it was covered by an orange elephant swimming on a see of blue fabric.

Rick took in the monkeys and elephants and camels dancing joyfully on Milo's chest and mumbled, "I would."

Milo kept buttoning his shirt, "Would what?"

"Miss it."

Milo stopped and turned to face him, confused. Then he remembered what they were talking about. "Right." He said, as if that settled the issue.

Rick stared into his eyes and sighed. The sound came out stiff, and Milo couldn't tell if he was repressing anger or fear.

"So..."

"So?"

Rick shifted on his feet and crossed his arms, defensive. "You wanna buy it?"

Milo turned back to the mirror and admired himself. Smoothed the fabric. "I'm not sure. Can I try one of those coconut bras?"

The tips of Rick's mustache wiggled. He plucked at them to make them still.

Milo spread his arms, missing the busy shelves my a miracle. "C'mon, that was funny. At least give me a smile."

Rick worked hard on keeping a straight face, but lost the battle.

Milo smirked. _Victory_!

"You know", Rick said, as Milo payed for the shirt. "I can handle your ugly fashion. But I could go without you always winning every argument."


	3. Green

**Rating:** T  
**Genre:** angst  
**Warning:** references to war and violence, language.  
**Spoilers:** none  
**Prompts: **drabbles100: _018. green_  
**Word count**: 500

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"_Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime_."  
Ernest Hemingway

* * *

It didn't happen all the time, and Richard was glad because it scared the shit out of him. It always did, it always will, just as much as the first time.

It had been silence to wake him up. Milo had the loudest snore Rick had ever heard and the walls on Milo's tiny bedroom made it echo endlessly. But Rick was used to sleeping with some background noise (be it the rush of the ER or just the television) and, whenever Milo left the room, he could tell the difference, even in his sleep.

That night, there was no snoring. There was nothing, not even the sound of his breath.

With a lazy movement, he turned on his back and found Milo staring at the ceiling quietly, as if the shadows that the faltering street lamp projected through the window were a fascinating painting. His thick fingers were crossed over his chest and his whole body felt stiff, as if he were too scared to move.

Rick called his name and Milo turned slowly so he could meet his eyes, burning green under the glow of the yellow street lamp. Only, they weren't of the bright color of grass any longer. They were something different. Something like the green of a wild Asian jungle and they were not beautiful, but dark and deep, endless.

Once, Rick had asked him about war and Milo had tried to explain it. But now, for a split second, Rick can actually see it, the mud and the blood mixing up with death inside his eyes, and he feared the eyes he loved so much wouldn't come back. That Milo would stare at him with the memory of battlefields shining empty and insane forever.

But Milo blinked once and it was gone.

Rick felt his heart returning to a regular beat once he heard him say, "Hi."

"Hi." Rick answered, realizing he had been holding his breath.

He watched Milo go quiet, uncross his fingers slowly, then frown, searching for a long lost answer. His mouth opened, but he allowed his chin to hang loose a moment before he finally found the words, that came out in a groggy and almost timid voice, "I think I had a bad dream. But I can't remember."

Rick sighed, relieved, "Good. That's good."

Something flashed inside Milo's eyes. "I think someone explod-"

Rick rushed to shush him - he didn't wanna hear that, he was _not _going to hear that. "Come here, Big Guy." And pulled him to his shoulder, making sure to hold him tight against himself. To feel him fall asleep slowly and the heaviness of his head against his shoulder was somehow comforting, but Rick could not go back to sleep that night.

It is not a recurring thing. It just happens, and it's less and less each year. But the flash of that Asian jungle that invades his mind in rare occasions and reaches into his eyes still gave Richard a cold chill.


End file.
